She stepped between folders and leaned over my shoulder.
“Here.” I pointed at a police report. “It’s from the police call logs the night Zach was killed. Officer Wrangler responded to a call from the owner of the SeaPort Gas Station, the one on the highway that leads to the dirt road where Zach was found. The owner called in at 9:42 p.m. to report a suspicious man pumping gas. Blood on his neck, jeans, and shoes. White male, late thirties, dark-brown hoodie, torn jeans, old white truck. Drove off westbound. The officer said in his report that it wasn’t related to Zach’s murder.”
She took the paper from me and read it herself. The words were all there. Exactly as I’d said.
“We have him,” I concluded, smiling for the first time in weeks. “Zach’s real murderer. This is the proof we need to get Mom out!”
It wasn’t that simple. But, still. Something in my chest lifted. That tricky, dangerous thing called hope.
She reached out and gently ran her hand down my cheek.
“Well done, sweetheart.”
I got up so fast, I stumbled. “They must have missed this. We have to go to the police. Right now.”
She shook her head. “Not tonight. It’s too late. They already had this report. I’ll go tomorrow. Right after I meet the new lawyer. Maybe he’ll come with me, throw around legal threats if they don’t follow up on this lead.”
I nodded. “Good idea, Grandma.”
“Bed?” she asked.
“Yeah. I can’t wait to tell Dad all this in the morning. It’ll help him. I think.”
“It will,” she said.
Chapter 19
Nicole
I was slumped in the driver’s seat, parked right in front of the state police station where Detective Nolan worked. The engine was off, the windows cracked just enough to let in the cool air from the parking lot.
I’d been sitting here for at least three and a half hours.
If he didn’t come out soon, I’d have to leave to pick up the kids from school. Brian could no longer be trusted to manage even the basics.
The lawyer appointment had been fast. The second he realized who I was and what I needed, he declined. The case was too hot.
I could crawl back to Jack, but after he’d billed us $84,897 and hadn’t even bothered to read through all the files, I wasn’t so sure that was the best idea. Because, at this point, it all made sense. Thomas Harlow and his bloodhound, Kara Belmont, didn’t care about any leads that could prove Lacey’s innocence.
I had to do more. I had to drag the real killer to them—served up on a silver plate.
I was about to leave and come back later, when the station door finally creaked open again and Nolan walked out.
I straightened immediately and got out of the car.
He moved quickly across the lot toward his SUV, but it didn’t take long for him to notice he was being followed. He turned mid-step.
“Nicole?” His brow lifted. His brown hair looked a little tousled, and his suit pants were wrinkled.
“Sorry for ambushing you,” I said. “But is there anywhere we can talk?”
He looked over his shoulder at the building behind him.
“Private,” I added before he could say anything. That landed. I saw it in the way his gaze dropped, thoughtful, uneasy.
Talking to me out in the open was already a risk. Talking to me inside, where everyone could see, would be career suicide.
Nobody wanted to be seen as an enemy of the attorney general.
